


Anatomy of an Unfortunate Seduction

by ajejunestar (ohmyjetsabel)



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, First Time, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-30
Updated: 2011-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyjetsabel/pseuds/ajejunestar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt on the tsn_kinkmeme. Mark getting some ideas from Redbook's 'Foreplay Tips and Techniques - Foreplay Ideas for Men' on how to seduce Wardo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anatomy of an Unfortunate Seduction

**Author's Note:**

> My awkward attempt at humor. Prompt and Redbook article link here: http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/5147.html?thread=8676635#t8676635

**Move #2: Make Sure he sees you undress with sexy looks**  
   
Mark doesn't arch his back all supposedly-sexy-like when he removes his hoodie--oh so slowly. Instead, he sort of hunches, he supposes. It gives the suggestion of abs, you know? Not that he rehearsed this in the mirror last night or anything, because _wow_ that would be appallingly pathetic, but Mark knows his own doughy form well enough to _know_ that arching makes him look maybe a touch too feminine, and yes, okay, he wants to seduce Eduardo, but there are lines he won't cross.  
   
Sadly, following [Redbook](http://www.redbookmag.com/love-sex/advice/foreplay-tips#ixzz1IlWicr00)['](http://www.redbookmag.com/love-sex/advice/foreplay-tips#ixzz1IlWicr00)[s](http://www.redbookmag.com/love-sex/advice/foreplay-tips#ixzz1IlWicr00) [_Moves_](http://www.redbookmag.com/love-sex/advice/foreplay-tips#ixzz1IlWicr00) [_Men_](http://www.redbookmag.com/love-sex/advice/foreplay-tips#ixzz1IlWicr00) [_Love_](http://www.redbookmag.com/love-sex/advice/foreplay-tips#ixzz1IlWicr00) is apparently not one of them.  
   
Mark is currently trying out Move #2:  
   
 _“When Cassie’s in the mood for lovemaking or for reminding me how sexy she is, she makes sure I see her undress. After raising her skirt above her thighs, she removes her stockings, running her hands along her calves as she pulls them down. Then she slowly unbuttons her blouse, giving me sexy looks between each button. Finally, she undoes her bra and cups her breasts as the straps fall off her shoulders. It makes me nuts.”—John, 40_  
   
It makes sense, Mark guesses. He's been waiting—downright fucking _pining_ —for Eduardo to show a hint of interest in Mark, and that's stupid. Mark gets that now. That's not how people work. They fear stuff, like rejection and humiliation and general hurt, and who knows? Maybe Eduardo is only into Asian girls, and Mark can't—he can't focus on that.  
   
He's removing his hoodie.  
   
In a borderline obscene fashion, mind you.  
   
Mark balls the cuffs of the sleeves in his fists first. You know. So when he lifts his arms it'll ride up and expose the puny trail of hair that extends from bellybutton to waistband. Eduardo will see that. And the sort-of-abs. Mark knows he will, because before he did the sleeve-cuff fisting, he strategically placed himself front-and-center of the television Eduardo is watching.  
   
Mark lifts and lifts and lifts his arms.  
   
Bends an elbow back.  
   
Grabs the hood of the sweater.  
   
(Eduardo is craning his head to see around him.)  
   
Pulls it skyward.  
   
Over his head.  
   
Darkness (he hopes Eduardo is watching; Mark can feel air on his bare belly).  
   
Wrestles with the hoodie.  
   
Pauses.  
   
Panics when he realizes he's maybe stuck with his elbows in the air like this.  
   
Flails forward.  
   
Stumbles over a shoe (goddammit Dustin).  
   
Bends over, head down.  
   
Rips it off.  
   
Huffs.  
   
Eduardo barks a laugh at the television, which just so happens to be showing that fucking _Doritos_ commercial with the ugly-assed, flat-faced dog.  
   
Mark stalks to the sofa and hurls his shed hoodie into a corner.  
   
Sulks.  
   
*  
   
 **Move #10: Walk Sexy for Him**  
   
Okay so here's the thing.  Mark. Doesn't really have hips. He has this general _area_ where his torso disappears into his lower body, but other than that... he has no sway. This, he _did_ practice, and sure, he's mortified okay? It's mortifying. It's emasculating, and it's _fucking stupid_.  
   
That said, Mark probably has a decent ass, so you know? He's got to work with what he's got. When Dustin and Chris go on a beer run, Mark does this. He pops from left to right, just to go pilfer a Twizzler or ten from Chris's stash. No one can see him—Mark knows that logically, but still.  
   
Mark blushes. Swaying from side to side in the dorm room like that. Bending over, looking over his shoulder at a mirror.  
   
Okay okay. Mark has a decent ass.  
   
A sufficient ass.  
   
The following day he's walking with Eduardo to their next class, and Mark thinks _this is it_. It doesn't have to be a big deal. It doesn't have to really be... like, dramatic, right? Because Mark figures since he never does this even the smallest movement will be obvious. He won't have to go _all out_.  
   
So he accelerates until he's right in front of Eduardo and grabs at the straps to his bag, and with a gulp, Mark _sways_. Well. It's probably a sway. At the very least, a swagger, and at most... well. Mark doesn't want to go there, so he does it just a little. Just enough. Eduardo will notice, he has to.  
   
When Mark peeks over his shoulder he finds Eduardo rifling through the bag at his hip, brows furrowed in concentration. And so Mark keeps at it, right? Because he has to look up eventually. Only Eduardo doesn't, and Mark wants to grab that fucking bag from Eduardo's shoulder and dump the contents everywhere so that Eduardo will just _find whatever he wants_ and for the love of god, _look at Mark's ass already_.  
   
They reach the building before that happens.  
   
Mark spends most of ComSci wondering if he should try again, or...  
   
*  
   
 **Move #6: Play Footsie and Put Your Feet in His Lap**  
   
Mark is now officially grossed out by Tip #6. He doesn't judge others for having a foot fetish, but this is... this is too much. It must be too much.  
   
It happens on a whim.  
   
Eduardo and Mark are in the caf eating breakfast. Mark still hasn't slept and Eduardo looks like he did, but not nearly enough. Eduardo is also doing that thing where he perfectly separates his eggs from his toast from his bacon, at least two inches apart on every side.  
   
It's just so goddamn anal. Anal and fucking _endearing_ and _who else in this world does that_ , and Mark just has the strongest impulse to mess it all up and grab Eduardo's ridiculous hair and smash his lips to his face and _what is this even_.  
   
Mark just wants to be all over him.  
   
Just like that.  
   
Just because of Eduardo's anally endearing food OCD.  
   
So Mark thinks, _fuck it_ , right? Might as well stay this course, what could it hurt?  
   
Mark's foot searches for a long time for Eduardo's. He slouches down and back to give himself better reach, and he's toeing all over under the table just looking for Eduardo's foot, but it's like—  
   
Mark can't find it.  
   
He lifts his foot and sort of sweeps, because Eduardo's feet _do exist_ , somewhere, under this table, and if Mark can just catch one, or ascertain a general location of proximity, then he could probably—  
   
"Ow!" Eduardo jumps, dropping his fork, which splatters in his eggs and sends them covering the toast. "The fuck?" he growls, brows pulled angrily together, hand rubbing his shin.  
   
Mark swallows guiltily and straightens from his slouched position. "Um. Sorry. I was... I dropped a napkin and I was trying to—"  
   
"Bend down and get it, Mark, Christ. You can be so damned lazy." Eduardo's eyes shift to his disheveled tray, going wide in horror when they survey the scrambled egg situation. He lifts his palms, gestures to it. "Look at this. How am I going to eat this now?" With an air of _my scrambled eggs have ruined my entire life_ , Eduardo stands, snatches the tray from the table and stalks away.  
   
His hips? They definitely have a sway-like quality. And Eduardo's ass is more than sufficient, it's—  
   
Mark spends the rest of his morning in the shower.  
   
*  
   
 **Move #12: Intentionally brush your breasts against his arm.**  
   
Well that's bullshit. Aside from Mark's obvious lack of breasts, how would _that_ move seduce anyone? It's a little intrusive, and after the foot incident, Mark doesn't think he could handle injuring Eduardo with his entire chest.  
   
Still.  
   
With the _brushing_.  
   
Okay, Mark does it more for himself than anything.  
   
Eduardo has this habit where he holds the door for people. So stupid. Mark's always been of the mind that if a person is capable of opening a door themselves, then why shouldn't they? But whatever. Eduardo is weird like that. Weird and oddly kind.  
   
So Eduardo does this thing, right? All the time. Like Mark's some delicate little flower who needs that kind of treatment. It's... well, it doesn't _bother_ Mark per se, but it has always seemed strange.  
   
Nevertheless, Mark can use this to his advantage, he suddenly realizes one night as they enter Kirkland.  
   
Eduardo's talking... about... something, he can't expect Mark to process words when Eduardo's hips are doing _that thing_ again, and how come it's like practically natural for him? Not fair.  
   
Anyway, Eduardo's talking. There are words. And sounds. And then there's a door and Eduardo is holding it, still doing that talking thing, and since Mark is trying to purposefully _not_ get caught eyeing Eduardo's more-than-sufficient ass, his eyes snap up, and he thinks, _why not_?  
   
He skirts past Eduardo, but at that crucial second where they're parallel, Mark takes a deep breath and his chest puffs out and it _brushes_ Eduardo's side, and it could be fine and good, except.  
   
They maintain that eye contact, and what could have been a perfectly natural not-breast brushing is totally awkward—so awkward that Mark almost pauses, because Eduardo is staring and Mark is staring and his puffed chest is all mashed against Eduardo's shoulder because now that Mark really stops and takes notice, he realizes his _brush_ is more of a _press_ , and _fuck his life_ , it was not supposed to go down this way.  
   
All Mark can think is, _ABORT._ _ABORT._ _ABORT._  
   
So Mark maybe over-corrects by jumping away, and Eduardo's grip on the door slips and it ends up smacking Mark in the shoulder.  
   
"Sorry!" Eduardo says, prying the door back, and Mark keeps his chin ducked, eyes to the floor as they climb the stairs.  
   
Mark lets Eduardo lead.  
   
*  
   
 **Move #5: Bring Him Shopping for Lingerie With You.**  
   
Like. Mark wants to know what moron wrote this crap. Ignoring for one second that lingerie would never apply to this situation, no man feels anything but awkward and miserable inside of a lingerie store. Come on.  
   
Mark obviously clearly can _not_ take Eduardo with him to shop for lingerie. For one, Mark's version of lingerie is probably his pair of polyester Vader boxers and he can hear Eduardo judging him for it from miles away. Secondly, too strong. Mark wants something a little more subtle, _especially_ since the unfortunate chest-brush-door-eye-contact- _ABORT_ event.  
   
Mark can't prove that Eduardo has been ignoring him since that happened, but Mark is definitely making himself scarce.  
   
That's what dudes do when shit gets awkward. They avoid. Which is a problem, you know? Because Mark is in the _friend zone_ , and if he's being honest, sometimes he puts Eduardo in his own _friend zone_ just out of pure habit, and Mark needs to stop defaulting to that behavior.  
   
Really.  
   
He read it in Cosmo.  
   
Okay so, Mark needs to gradually make their relationship more intimate. He can't just expect to jump into this seduction crap headfirst. Toes need dipped. Barriers need broken. Eyes need to be met.  
   
 _Fruit of the Loom_ cotton boxer-briefs need to be purchased.  
   
Mark admits, it's not his most brilliant idea, nor the most subtle, but what's sexy about plain boxer-briefs?  
   
He sort of tricks Eduardo into going. "I need new jeans," Mark lies.  
   
Eduardo of course, ecstatic for any opportunity in which Mark gives a damn about his appearance for three seconds, says into the phone, "I'll pick you up at seven."  
   
It starts off badly.  
   
"Wal-Mart?" Eduardo asks, face all screwed up in disgust. "Friends don't let friends buy denim from Wal-Mart, Mark."  
   
"They're cheap." Mark likes using this—the upper-class guilt trip.  
   
Eduardo's face falls. "Are you—really? Because... I mean there are places where jeans are maybe fifty dollars…"  
   
Mark chokes, " _Fifty dollars?_ " He has to remind himself, he's not really buying jeans.  
   
Only now Mark is realizing he _really has to buy jeans_ to make this work.  
   
So they're going to Wal-Mart, dammit.  
   
Eduardo falls sadly behind Mark when they walk through the automatic doors, which Mark is super grateful for by the way, lack of door-holding necessity and all.  
   
*  
   
They browse. Wrinkle their nose at ill-supervised children.  
   
Eduardo keeps his head low.  
   
Mark picks a pair of jeans without trying them on or really even looking at the size whatsoever. Just throws them over an arm and turns his eyes to the _other_ section.  
   
"I need to go over here," Mark says, shuffling past the racks of shirts and past the wall that divides the outerwear and the underwear.  
   
There's underwear all over the place, and where there's underwear, there are obscenely large advertisements of _crotches_. Mark and Eduardo are surrounded by bulging junk, as far as the eye can see. Look over there. Penis. Over here. Penis. Over there. More penis. Penis penis penis. Mark is hot. His face. Sweltering. His neck. Burning. This sucks.  
   
"You need socks?" Eduardo guesses.  
   
Yeah, Mark could bail right now by agreeing to that. "I need underwear," he admits instead, and turns just in time to see Eduardo take a deep inhale.  
   
"Okay."  
   
Wordlessly, Eduardo follows Mark to the appropriate aisle. Boxer-briefs. All sorts of sizes. A lot of colors. Some shorter. Some longer. Mark would never admit to it, but he's never bought underwear for himself. His mom always does that sort of stuff, okay? It's not like he asks her to, she just does it, and so he never has to, and it's not like he _doesn't know_ what kind of underwear he prefers, it's just...  
   
The selection.  
   
It's overwhelming.  
   
Mark reaches out to just fiddle with a package and notices a tremor in his hand. He shoves it into his pocket and uses his other, steadier hand to just snatch whatever off a rack.  
   
"You should get black," Eduardo suddenly supplies, head tilted thoughtfully as he scans the selection.  
   
Mark's mouth sort of opens-closes-opens-closes before it can form a dumb, "Huh?"  
   
"Black," Eduardo clarifies, like _duh_ , and picks up a package. "You're like... what, a small?"  
   
Mark gives something resembling a nod and takes the package when it's extended to him.  
   
Eduardo clears his throat, lifts his shoulders and gruffly asks, "Is that it?"  
   
Mark nods again and leads Eduardo to the checkout, and if they're both staring pretty intently at the May issue of _Elle_ magazine, neither picks it up to flip through.  
   
*  
   
 **Move #6: Play Footsie and Put Your Feet in His Lap - _TAKE TWO_**  
   
He watches Eduardo when they begin drinking. It's a Friday after finals and everyone's got that loose, fuck-it-all-everything-is-awesome attitude, especially Eduardo. He sits on their sofa, wrapping his lips around the tall-necks that Dustin is steadily supplying, and laughing as they play Mario Kart like this—this sitting in Mark's dorm getting drunk and playing Dreamcast—is the most interesting and fun thing he could possibly be doing in college on a Friday night.  
   
Mark wants to put his feet in Eduardo's lap. The footsie had been bad, Mark knows that, okay? But this would be different. Mark's feet would be in Eduardo's lap, and Eduardo's lap has a crotch.  
   
Mark stares at it.  
   
Eduardo's crotch, that is.  
   
It's not bulging or anything. There's, like... that convenient curve zippers have that can serve as a scapegoat if an erection is ever spotted, but other than that, Eduardo just has a pretty normal lap.  
   
Mark wants to put something in it. His feet. His head. His entire body. Whatever. Mark can't stop thinking about it. Can't stop looking at it. Can't stop imagining Eduardo's _thighs_ —God, Mark bets Eduardo has amazing thighs. Firm. Cord-y. And they're spread. Just a bit. Enough room to wedge a beer bottle safely between while Eduardo takes the game controller.  
   
Mark toes off his shoes and inspects his socks. They're not dirty, outwardly. But Mark knows he wore this same pair of socks the day before and the day before that and the day before that and maybe even the day before that, so what if they smell? What if Mark has smelly gross feet?  
   
He takes off his socks.  
   
Wiggles his toes.  
   
Looks at Eduardo's lap.  
   
He has to wait for Eduardo's turn to end, so that Eduardo will take away the beer bottle and Mark can get a _go_ signal. So Mark begins the preliminary preparations by reclining on the sofa, back to the arm, one knee in the air, the other foot flat on the ground. Mark watches Eduardo's face—the way his tongue presses into his cheek every time his kart takes a turn, and the way his lips purse whenever he slips on a peel.  
   
Mark goes next.  
   
He takes the controller from Eduardo, who's lost, and watches from his periphery as the beer bottle is lifted from between Eduardo's ridiculous cord-y firm thighs.  
   
Mark doesn't give himself opportunity to analyze Eduardo's reaction when he extends a leg, propping a foot on Eduardo's thigh, because Mark is watching the screen and kicking Chris's ass, which is a feat because all Mark can really think about is how that thigh feels under his foot, and _it is_ firm, and also warm, and also, Eduardo has soft pants.  
   
Mark ultimately loses.  
   
When he passes the controller off to Dustin, Mark uses the opportunity to lift his other foot and place it parallel to the other. On Eduardo's thigh. Near his crotch.  
   
Eduardo doesn't react at all, just keeps watching the game and drinking his beer, and when the controller makes its rotation back to him, he puts his beer bottle on the floor and leans forward, elbows propped on his knees, and Mark _dies_ , because when Eduardo does that, he spreads his thighs a little more and Mark's heels slide over sinewy muscle and leave his feet _there_ , in the lap zone, cradled in the parenthesis of Eduardo's posture.  
   
All signs point to Eduardo being _favorable_ of this.  
   
Still, Mark eventually allows his eyes to close and his brain to focus wholly on the warmth and vibrations of Eduardo's body, until he falls asleep.  
   
He awakes the next morning, alone on the sofa, determined anew.  
   
*  
   
 **Move #3: Surprise him by turning on music and grabbing him for a dance.**  
   
"How would you dance?" Mark asks Chris one afternoon. "Like. With a guy, I mean. Is it like dancing with a girl, or are there additional parameters, like an ass-to-crotch ratio, or a common distance between two pelvises?"  
   
Chris sort of blinks at this, confused. "Are you talking about me, you, or in general?"  
   
"General."  
   
"What's the intent of the dance?"  
   
"Not overtly sexual in nature, but suggestive enough to indicate polite interest."  
   
Chris hums, appearing thoughtful. "I suppose ass-to-crotch contact would be out then. Maybe something fun. Fast music. Enough distance that there's no direct bumping, but still close enough to—"  
   
Mark halts him with an eye-roll. "Exact distance, Chris. Give me this in terms of inches."  
   
"Everyone's personal bubble is different," Chris explains. "It depends on the person. But I guess anything less than a foot is—"  
   
"Got it." Mark leaves before Chris can begin asking questions, and Mark knows he will because Chris has got that _look_ on his face, like the conversation is only twenty percent complete and requires further explanation.  
   
No, thank you.  
   
Mark doesn't really intend to go through with it. He's not a dancer, okay? He's all long, awkward limbs and two left feet, and besides all that, Mark's not sure he likes what that kind of performance would do to his reputation. What if he were expected to dance with _other_ people? Mark doesn't want to dance with other people. He barely wants to dance with Eduardo, it's just that dancing is a fairly vital resource when it comes to seduction, so.  
   
Mark doesn't rule it out.  
   
Well.  
   
While _sober_ , Mark doesn't rule it out.  
   
While _not sober_ , Mark seems to think this is the greatest idea to ever pass through any mind ever ever, because his previously _sober_ and admittedly depressing and cynical mind had failed to realize that dancing with Eduardo would put Mark in desirably close proximity to him.  
   
The artificial optimism of alcohol makes Mark think that there could be eventual _rubbing_.  
   
 _God,_ Mark wants rubbing.  
   
He wants rubbing _so bad_.  
   
It's Dustin's birthday. If it were Chris's birthday, this wouldn't be happening, but Dustin wants the whole twenty-year-old dude shebang, and we're talking togas and guys running around randomly in lingerie (the irony is not lost on Mark) and so much liquor that Mark thinks the door to Kirkland should be decorated with big red circles and Pabst advertisements.  
   
Really, Mark plans to hide in his room, but Eduardo appears to be having a good time or something, because he's drinking and talking to people and Mark's not _jealous_ , but he does get a little frustrated that he's forced to tolerate all of this social crap just to say he's spending time with Eduardo.  
   
Mark gets drunk.  
   
Really, really shitfaced drunk.  
   
And there's, like... _music_. It's already there. People are dancing, so there's that. Mark observes them, tries to mentally mimic their moves, and he thinks _I can totally pull this off_ and wonders what he was ever worried about, as _clearly_ , Mark is a fantastic dancer. It's super easy. Move your hips. Put your hands in the air. Bend your knees every now and again. Patterns, rhythm, what's the difference?  
   
Mark's got this.  
   
*  
   
He spots Eduardo's semi-fuzzy shape from the across the room. Mark downs his beer in one go, slams it on the counter, wipes his mouth with his sleeve, and stalks determinedly through the crowd. Eduardo is talking to some _girl_. Some stupid boring _look at me, I have a fuzzy twin_ girl.  
   
"Wardo," Mark greets when he reaches them, snatching his arm.  
   
"What?" Eduardo asks, appearing especially confused when Mark begins dragging him away, toward the speakers with the bass and the one little vacancy on the floor where Mark can be free to put Tip #3 to action.  
   
Mark turns to Eduardo.  
   
Steadies himself.  
   
Makes eye contact.  
   
No aborting, dammit.  
   
Mark dances.  
   
He feels so _free_. Moves his hips. Puts his hands in the air. Bends his knees once or twice. It's all about the pattern. A fractal. Or mosaic. Numbers and code. Do this, then do that. No conditionals. Just dancing. Less than a foot. Seduction.  
   
Mark _loves loves loves_ dancing.  
   
"What are you doing?" Eduardo's voice disturbs Mark's zen-like dance trance.  
   
Mark takes a moment to pause, blinking. "I'm dancing."  
   
Eduardo's eyes go big. " _That's_ dancing?" Then he laughs.  
   
Right in Mark's face.  
   
Mark insists, "I'm dancing just like everyone else," but Eduardo disagrees.  
   
"You're just doing this—" Eduardo flails his arms and shakes his head. "—over and over again. That's not dancing, Mark. It's spastic and possibly dangerous. Also really funny, though, so you shouldn't stop." Eduardo laughs again, clapping him on the shoulder, all big white teeth and crinkly eyes.  
   
Mark gets upset. He gets really, really mad. And embarrassed. He shrugs off Eduardo's hand and gnashes his teeth. "I'm just curious, Wardo. Is it my dancing that's bad, or is it because I'm doing it with you?"  
   
Eduardo's smile falls, before quirking back up again, brows pulled together. "Were you, like... trying to dance with _me_?"  
   
"Well I am _dancing_ , however badly, and I am doing it in front of you with a distance of less than twelve inches, so yeah, even a complete moron with a 1400 SAT score could determine that I'm dancing with him."  
   
This time when Eduardo's smile falls, it doesn't spring back to reveal shiny teeth or crinkly eyes. Instead, he just stares at Mark, lips set into a thin line. "You're drunk, you should go sleep it off."  
   
"You should go find an Asian girl to dance with. I'm just fine where I am."  
   
"You're kind of being a dick, Mark."  
   
"You're kind of killing my buzz, Eduardo."  
   
"You know what?" Eduardo says, hands raised, palms up. "Enjoy being spastic."  
   
He walks away, and Mark just stands there, staring and wondering where he went wrong.  
   
The feet were a total success a couple nights prior. Once, he even felt Eduardo grab his ankles and reposition them in his lap. A guy wouldn't do that unless he were interested, right? Or were at least okay with another guy being interested in him.  
   
Mark ends up hiding in his bedroom after all. He strips down to his new black boxer-briefs, climbs under the blankets, shivers and gags a few times before everything goes black.  
   
He thinks he dreams of Eduardo's voice, distant and obscure, instructing Mark to roll over on his side and talking about trashcans.  
   
Mark tells Dream-Wardo, in words that come out slurred and scarily certain, "One day you'll get me, Wardo."  
   
*  
   
 **Move #14: Shave his face.**  
   
Mark's been on a coding binge. A wild, ferocious, Mountain Dew-fueled coding binge. People come and go, moving their lips and making sounds, but Mark ignores them all. He's programming a link indexer that will probably be of no use to anyone, anywhere, except maybe Mark, but that's not why he's doing it.  
   
Mark likes creating.  
   
Just the thought that Mark put something into the world that hadn't previously existed— _that_ is cool. It makes his brain happy—proud.  
   
It's just not working like it should, though.  
   
Mark's brain—not the link indexer.  
   
The link indexer works perfectly.  
   
Actually, Mark wishes it had more bugs—wishes it weren't so cut and dry—wishes there were some vague variable or error that tripped him up so he could solve it and have that added feeling of accomplishment.  
   
Mark is totally bummed.  
   
Eduardo comes by, Mark notices. Sometimes, he'll pop his head into Mark's room and ask what he wants from the China Wok, or Subway, or what he wants on his pizza. Eduardo buys him food. He gets Mark drinks. He keeps track of how much Mark's sleeping, and he's even suggested a shower or two in passing.  
   
To a casual observer, Eduardo would probably seem attentive and friendly, but Mark knows better.  
   
Eduardo is distant.  
   
He doesn't come and sit on the edge of Mark's bed while he codes, playing with his cell phone while they volley random conversations back and forth. He doesn't come and peek over Mark's shoulder or ask what he's working on. And he hasn't commented on any of Mark's blog entries, which is weird only because Mark had chosen specific Eduardo-related topics (how awful Wal-Mart is, the recent economy boom, the gaming industry's sometimes unethical methods to addict their audience, etc. etc.).  
   
Mark did something bad.  
   
The fact that he doesn't know what that is could be attributed to the fact that, barring some groovy dance moves and awaking to vomit all over his pillow, Mark doesn't remember much of anything about what happened on Dustin's birthday.  
   
Also, Mark is just bad at this stuff, alright? At everything in relation to this—seduction, attraction, not to mention not-offending people.  
   
So whatever happened happened. Mark has this. The certainty of programming. Every block is delimited, so Mark knows what's PHP and what's HTML and what CSS is and what's JavaScript. He knows where he stands with this.  
   
Mark never _ever_ knows where he stands with Eduardo.  
   
He's still indulging in this four-day-running binge when there's an incessant knocking at the front door. Mark ignores it, of course. That's what Dustin and Chris are for. He stays his pattern of edit, save, ALT+TAB, F5, repeat, until the door opens.  
   
Eduardo appears in Mark's open doorway, hands braced on either side. "Where is everyone?"  
   
Mark shrugs, sparing him a glance, noting his wet hair. "Is it raining?" Mark doesn't even know what day of the week it is, let alone what the weather is like.  
   
"No, it's—" Eduardo pauses here, huffing out an annoyed breath. "There's no hot water in my room. Can I use your shower?"  
   
Ignoring for one second that only a very thin wall will be separating Mark from a very naked and wet Eduardo—  
   
Who is Mark kidding?  
   
There's no ignoring that.  
   
He clears his throat, but his voice still breaks when he answers, "Yeah sure, whatever."  
   
The sound of the shower running is enough to make Mark stir beneath the cotton of his sweats. He adjusts his erection and tries to focus on his pattern of edit, save, ALT+TAB, F5, but it's like practically impossible. By the time the shower turns off, Mark is so flustered and distracted that he doesn't know what the hell a link indexer even does.  
   
Eduardo takes long showers, and he spends even longer doing whatever it is he does after his shower. Brushing his hair? Drying it? Clipping his nails? Mark doesn't even know, but he's aware enough of every crinkle and shift of fabric coming from the vicinity of the bathroom that the sound of the door opening jars him.  
   
Eduardo appears in his doorway again—this time, shirtless.  
   
It takes Mark a long time to realize Eduardo is talking. Or that Eduardo has a face at all.  
   
A face that is half-covered in shaving cream. "Did you hear me?"  
   
"Huh?"  
   
"The mirror," Eduardo apparently repeats. "It's broken."  
   
"Uh," Mark struggles to remember what a mirror is. "Oh yeah. It. The party. Dustin's. The guy and the. He broke it."  
   
"What guy?" Eduardo wants to know, and Mark's just like _who fucking cares man, where is your shirt, you wet gorgeous asshole_.  
   
"I don't know. Some guy. He was in a lace teddy."  
   
And Eduardo of course nods, because he actually, like _knows people_ , and says, "So do you have another mirror? I need to shave."  
   
They have mirrors. Dustin has a full-length mirror on the back of his door, and Mark doesn't even want to know what purpose it serves. And Chris has a mirror in his closet, probably for a completely different function, but Mark doesn't say that.  
   
This is, like.  
   
Divine intervention, right?  
   
What are the chances that Tip #14 would fall in his lap like this, so effortlessly?  
   
Mark blames the sleep deprivation for choosing to go for it. There's no other explanation—not after the bad dancing and the avoidance and the overall badness of this whole plan.  
   
The problem is, Mark keeps remembering _the feet_.  
   
The fucking feet.  
   
And the ankle repositioning.  
   
And the lap.  
   
Mark remembers a lot about the lap.  
   
And the thigh.  
   
 _God_ , the thigh.  
   
Mark lurches up from his seat and barrels past Eduardo. "I'll do it for you."  
   
Mark stands in the bathroom for what seems like forever, just surveying the evidence of Eduardo's shower. There's a wet towel on the floor, shampoo on the tub's edge, a razor on the counter, and a sink full of water.  
   
It takes a long time for Eduardo to follow him in.  
   
"You're going to shave my face?" Eduardo asks, more than a hint of suspicion in both his voice and expression.  
   
Mark lifts a shoulder and reasons, "Why not? You'd do it for me."  
   
The motivations wouldn't be the same, but Mark doesn't point that out. Instead, he gestures to the counter and rolls up the sleeves of his sweater.  
   
Eduardo lifts himself onto the counter with a great deal of hesitance, his chest drying but still infuriatingly bare. "This is weird," he comments while applying shaving cream to the other half of his face.  
   
"What's weird about a friend helping a friend?"  
   
"It's not weird when a friend helps a friend, Mark. It's weird when _you_ help a friend." Eduardo grins, but Mark supposes there's some authenticity to the sentiment.  
   
It frustrates him. "It's not that I'm a bad friend," Mark defends. "It's just that I don't always know how to be a _good_ friend, and in an unfairly Boolean summation, that makes me a bad friend by default."  
   
"Boolean?"  
   
"True or false. On or off. One or zero. Etcetera."  
   
Eduardo nods, however skeptically. "I know what Boolean means, Mark, I'm just saying, in favor of logic, might I point out that it's not your place to determine the quality of your own friendship."  
   
"Why the hell not? Doesn't intent count for anything?"  
   
"Not if you can't convey it."  
   
"Well that's—" Mark picks up the razor and glares at it. "That's stupid."  
   
"Is this a good idea? Letting you near my face with a sharp object?" Eduardo's eyes are big and timid.  
   
Mark responds by stepping between Eduardo's knees, eyes narrowed. "Don't talk."  
   
Okay, so Eduardo might have had a point.  
   
This _is_ weird.  
   
Awkward.  
   
Mark between Eduardo's knees is a lot less hot than Mark expected. Maybe because he's super close to Eduardo's face and trying not to accidentally flay his cheek, who knows. But it gets really quiet. Mark can hear three things: the dripping of the shower faucet, the scrape of the razor against stubble, and their breathing.  
   
Everything is still.  
   
Mark uses a finger to turn Eduardo's head when he's ready for the opposing cheek, careful to make the sideburns even. Afterward, he silently instructs Eduardo by tucking his lips between his teeth, and Eduardo mimics him with a gaze so intent that Mark's too anxious about slipping to meet it.  
   
Once done with his lip and jaw, Mark puts a finger below Eduardo's chin and forces his head back, drags the razor down the cords of muscle in his neck and throat, skimming softly over a bobbing Adam’s apple.  
   
Mark lifts his eyes to Eduardo's, so he can judge whether or not the razor hurts the particularly sensitive area, but he finds Eduardo's eyes fixed on Mark's lips, where his tongue peeks out, prodding the corner of his mouth in concentration.  
   
Mark is so close.  
   
He thinks.  
   
Well he could close the distance in less than a second, and if there's any objection on Eduardo's part, then it could just be that Mark lost his balance, right?  
   
He might buy that.  
   
Mark doesn't have enough time to analyze it as much as he'd like to, probably because Eduardo is staring at his lips and his eyes are all hooded and he doesn't have a shirt on and suddenly being between his knees is impossibly hotter than Mark ever expected.  
   
He does it.  
   
He just.  
   
Leans in and tilts his head, just so.  
   
Falls forward.  
   
Catches the corner of Eduardo's mouth and pinches it between his lips.  
   
It tastes astringent and bitter and salty, like shaving cream, which is sort of gross, and Eduardo jerks back, and in doing so, bangs his head against the wall and winces, gaping.  
   
"Was that—"  
   
Mark panics. "I lost my balance." _ABORT. ABORT. ABORT._  
   
"No you didn't."  
   
"I did." Mark nods fervently. "Steam makes stuff slippery. All the time. It's documented fact and—"  
   
And then Mark can't talk, because for one, Eduardo's smashed his mouth to Mark's, and for two, Eduardo is kissing Mark, and for three, Eduardo and Mark are apparently kissing?  
   
There's a fourth point in there too, and it has something to do with the way Eduardo grabs Mark's shoulders and yanks him closer, and he's breathing all loud and hissingly through his nose onto Mark's cheek, and it's unsteady in that way—in that nervous excited way—in that same way Mark's breathing.  
   
Mark doesn't know what to do with hands. What they're even for. Why they even exist. If he even has any. He just has lips, and they're between Eduardo's and it is _awesome_ and also so totally unexpected, and he doesn't know what to do or how to breathe or how to ensure this never stops, ever ever.  
   
Mark's locking lips with Eduardo and pinching and pulling with his mouth one second, and then suddenly there's no mouth there, and why?  
   
That's dumb.  
   
Eduardo's breathing almost as hard as Mark. "Damn."  
   
Mark gawks for a long second before leaning in to right the injustice of the kissing thing no longer occurring, but then there are noises and voices, and people are in the common room, and Mark and Eduardo jump apart, nervous and panting.  
   
Chris is the first to find them. "We have beer," he announces, eyes eventually observing the scene with equal parts amusement and confusion. "What—"  
   
"Steam is slippery," Mark says gruffly.  
   
Eduardo eyes them back and forth before supplying, "I used your shower."  
   
"Oh." Chris nods and looks to Mark, thumbing his chin. "You have a little something..."  
   
Shaving cream.  
   
Mark blushes furiously and prays that Chris will display his up-until-now useless knowledge of social cues to make like ALT+F4 and _exit_.  
   
Chris grins and leaves.  
   
Smart man.  
   
Eduardo's the first to move. Mark's too stunned and Wal-Mart-underwear-department levels of overwhelmed to do anything but stare at the glob of white shaving cream on the tip of his finger.  
   
Eduardo begins gathering his things, eventually putting on a shirt, Mark notes with some distant amount of disappointment. Then his palm closes around the edge of the door and eases it almost-closed and he is suddenly very close to Mark.  
   
Kissing-type close.  
   
Awkward eye contact type close.  
   
Eduardo ducks his head and noses Mark's cheek, catches his bottom lip with his mouth and kisses Mark, all slow like that—tender-like. Like there's maybe a promise of more, even though neither says a word when Eduardo leaves.  
   
*  
   
 **Move #11: Speak softly into his ear; use your tongue.**  
   
Well.  
   
This settles it.  
   
Mark Zuckerberg is a smooth motherfucker.  
   
He remembers the kiss fondly that night as he lies in bed, hands clasped behind his head. The way Mark just glided into that bathroom, took Eduardo by the neck, and tongue-fucked his mouth like Mark was some kind of Don Juan DeMarco or some shit, all suave and soft-lipped, and the way Eduardo had swooned and breathed, "Oh, Mark" like he was one kiss away from blacking out and creaming his pants...  
   
Okay okay.  
   
So Mark _embellishes_.  
   
Still, though.  
   
He did _something_ right, okay? It doesn't matter what; what matters is that _clearly_ Eduardo Saverin wanted to kiss Mark, not once, but _twice_ and in arguably quick succession. That's crossing the line of "polite interest" and basically sprinting toward a frantic finger-fucking and/or handjob.  
   
Mark—he gets ahead of himself, he can't help it. He's just such a cynic. Hope for a great porn video, expect a total hard drive reformat, that's Mark's motto.  
   
Mark has fantasies, mind you. A lot of them. But he's never allowed himself to even dream that Eduardo might respond favorably to a physical or romantic... whatever. He's never had a reason to, so he's just never imagined... because then he'd have to see Eduardo every day and think about everything he's _thought_ about, and it would be awkward and disappointing and just a bad idea.  
   
Now, though.  
   
Mark is imagining.  
   
And Eduardo—who has _fingers_ , and _hands_ , and _lips_ , and an entire _mouth_ for fuck's sake, and also very importantly, a _penis_ —can do things to Mark in these imaginings, and Mark might never leave his room again, because this is enough to keep him busy forever.  
   
But Eduardo.  
   
He wants to kiss Mark.  
   
So Mark would be pretty dumb to not wake up the next morning and form a plan of hunting Eduardo down and taking swift advantage of this fact, right?  
   
Right.  
   
But.  
   
Since Mark ends up jerking himself raw until all hours of the morning (did he mention that Eduardo has a penis? And _fingers_?), Mark over-sleeps and misses class, and he stubs his toe on the doorframe, and his hair is doing this thing that is not indicative of the smooth motherfucker he remembers himself being and Mark doesn't even begin to know how to tame it or—  
   
He has a sort of bad day.  
   
When he gets home that evening, hungry and grumpy and tired, he can hear Eduardo's voice through the door.  
   
That makes his day better.  
   
Instantly.  
   
Mark spends a few moments out there in the hall, psyching himself up and combing his fingers through his shitty, shitty hair, and he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, and if he also does a push-up or two, he'll take that shit to his grave.  
   
With a deep breath, Mark _glides_ in.  
   
And immediately stumbles over a shoe.  
   
Goddammit, Dustin.  
   
He takes a moment to grimace in pain, hopping on one foot and cradling his doubly-abused toe, before he realizes that Eduardo is there, on the sofa— _looking_ at Mark.  
   
Mark straightens.  
   
Clears his throat.  
   
Walks it off.  
   
"’Sup," Mark asks, but finds himself totally unable to make anything resembling eye contact with Eduardo, so he just stares at this vague spot over his shoulder and flushes red and mentally wills his hair to look awesome.  
   
Dustin answers, "Marky-Z! What's your stance on going in on some killer reefer?"  
   
And so.  
   
That's how most of the night goes. Mark and Dustin and Chris and Eduardo all bullshit just like they always have and will, but Mark can't meet Eduardo's eyes because he keeps thinking of his _fingers_ and his _penis_ and the various points-of-entry on Mark's body they could penetrate, and then Mark gets all flustered and red and stuttery and has to pull the hem of his sweatshirt over his lap like a thirteen-year-old.  
   
By the time Chris and Dustin agree to go on a beer and/or reefer run, consequently leaving Eduardo and Mark in the dorm all alone, the tension is so palpable that Mark might vomit.  
   
Or ejaculate.  
   
He hasn't decided which.  
   
Mark eyes Eduardo from his periphery, and is about to make small talk to break the ice, but realizes that's a bad idea. Mark talking. It would get him in trouble.  
   
He feels strangely proud for predicting this.  
   
Eduardo's just sitting there, watching T.V. as if he's unaffected by all of these... feelings, and Mark hopes that's not the case and Eduardo is really just a super good actor, because Mark's about to make a move.  
   
Mark goes through a mental checklist of all the tips he's used already. The foot thing, it had been a success, but they're way past footsie. The shaving thing, well. Mark's not sure he can come up with a good enough excuse to merit his shaving Eduardo again and without impossibly more awkwardness. There are other tips, sure. Some are downright explicit, and Mark really _really_ wants to work his way to those, but he's not—no way is he ready for—with the pillows—and the texts—and the orgasms—and _fuck_.  
   
Tip #11 seems like a good middle ground, even though it calls for _talking_ and Mark always fucks that up.  
   
Mark's so flustered by now that he doesn't have the patience or creativity to come up with something both seductive and safely inoffensive to whisper into Eduardo's ear, so instead, he just leans over, however rigidly, and breathes out an elongated, "Hi."  
   
Then he flicks Eduardo's earlobe with his tongue and snaps back to his previous position, stiff and sweaty.  
   
"Did you just lick my ear?" Eduardo asks after a pause.  
   
Mark swallows and considers aborting, but admits in a smaller voice than intended, "Yeah?"  
   
Another pause. Then, "Okay." Eduardo chuckles, and before Mark can decide if he's being laughed at, Eduardo's breath is hot at _his_ ear. "Are you going to kiss me, or just lap awkwardly at my ear all night?"  
   
When Mark finally finds the balls to meet his gaze, Eduardo is visibly fighting a grin.  
   
For the record, Mark doesn't necessarily _dive_ at Eduardo, but he will admit to advancing on him in a pounce-like fashion and mashing their faces so closely together that neither can breathe from their nose without it being loud and abrasive.  
   
Mark's not smooth like he remembers. Instead, Eduardo's palm finds Mark's cheek, and then his neck, and then his hair, and it reminds Mark that Mark has hands and Eduardo has hair and he really wants to merge those two concepts.  
   
He pokes Eduardo in the eye.  
   
"I'm sorry," Mark says, panting as he watches a hissing Eduardo cup his eye.  
   
Eduardo just laughs, blinks a few times, and reintroduces their lips, and Mark wonders _how the hell_ Eduardo does that. All of it. The cheek cupping and the easy blow-off of Mark's fumbles.  
   
They're, like... basically made for each other.  
   
No one else would tolerate Mark's a-little-too-enthusiastic kisses, nor the slobber that's currently emerging as Mark tries to ease this into tongue-ish territory. But Eduardo. Eduardo just rolls with it. He just cups Mark cheek and slows the pace of the smacking sounds into something slow and borderline erotic. Kissing Eduardo makes Mark feel smooth by proxy—almost confident—and now Mark can part his lips and sweep his tongue over Eduardo's slick mouth, and—  
   
Eduardo is so into that, he exhales super loud and Mark can feel Eduardo's body go all slack and then Eduardo's mouth opens and _his tongue_ is there, like... _touching_ Mark's, and licking Mark's mouth, and Mark is _so hard_ right now, he's shaking.  
   
Mark is shaking.  
   
All over.  
   
Fuck his life, it's mortifying.  
   
If Eduardo notices this, he doesn't call attention to it, instead choosing to suck at Mark's mouth and make these little happy sounds in the back of his throat, all the while pressing Mark's face closer and closer, until ultimately, their tongues don't feel air, just the warmth of the other’s mouth.  
   
Mark's tremors eventually dissipate into a weird, sedated sensation. Everything seems slow and slick. Hot and moist. Mark sweats a lot. Does the thing where he loops his tongue around Eduardo's and they move them in harmony and it's _so hot_. So unbelievably hot.  
   
They break away equally breathless, but then Eduardo kisses down his jaw and mouths at Mark's neck, and Mark groans, lets his head fall back against the sofa.  
   
"You can touch me," Eduardo encourages into his skin, moist with Eduardo's tongue-heavy kisses.  
   
So Mark lifts a hand and puts it into Eduardo's hair, pushes his face further into his neck.  
   
Eduardo chuckles, "I meant something kind of like—" and then his hand is on Mark's thigh, and it's going up and up and in and in, and it's _pressing_ and grabbing and squeezing and—  
   
Mark's hand forms a tight fist into Eduardo's hair when he jerks forward and shudders, mouth open in a sudden, silent cry.  
   
After a pretty long and horrifying pause, Mark still gasps for air. "I—" He also doesn't know what to say.  
   
Eduardo finally lifts his face from Mark's neck, wondering with big, incredulous eyes, "Did you just—?"  
   
Footsteps sound outside the door and their eyes go big, and Eduardo stuffs his hand into a pocket and begins _adjusting_ , and Mark uses the three seconds he has to hastily swear on his life, "That never happens. Wardo, that _never_ happens."  
  
*  
  
 **Move #25: Use your hands to guide him during sex.**  
   
Mark has tons of labs due. His academics have suffered greatly ever since Eduardo began permeating every facet of Mark's attention, and okay yeah, Mark isn't precisely _in there_ when it comes to Eduardo, but he's comfortable enough in Eduardo's mutual interest right this second that Mark thinks it's okay to _not_ fail out of college.  
   
Mark only says this because Eduardo didn't seem particularly put off by Mark's rather _expeditious_ climax. Eduardo just smiled with those big sympathetic eyebrows and clapped Mark on a shoulder.  
   
They got drunk / stoned with Chris and Dustin.  
   
And every now and then, Mark or Eduardo would begin randomly laughing, and the other would know _exactly_ what was being laughed about, so in turn, _he_ would begin laughing, and everything was better than fine.  
   
The remainder of Mark's week is spent being studious.  
   
Just enough to catch up.  
   
And then.  
   
Yeah.  
   
But for now, Mark commits himself to the code. He's mostly doing C++ and Python, which is pretty elementary stuff to Mark, but sometimes he likes to sneak in a function or feature that's newly developed and not included in the syllabus just to piss off his professor.  
   
It's fun.  
   
He's been working on this thing for two nights in a row, and being incredibly productive too, so when Eduardo walks in on Friday night, takes a seat at the corner of Mark's bed, and asks how things are going, Mark's torn between answering, "I'm too embarrassed about my premature ejaculation to look you in the eye, how are you?" or "I've been getting so much done without your big eyes and long fingers and firm thighs here to distract me," or "hjdblhdbvlhdh."  
   
That last one would be the sound Mark makes when he shoves his tongue down Eduardo's throat.  
   
Still, Mark's kind of grateful for the nugget of familiarity the whole affair offers, so he and Eduardo just talk like that while Mark codes and Eduardo dicks around on his cell phone. And if Mark sometimes maybe minimizes to his black-background desktop, giving him a perfect reflection of Eduardo sprawled out behind him, then there's no harm in that, right?  
   
It's the most fun Mark could possibly have without the presence of Eduardo's tongue and fingers.  
   
They talk for hours, until eventually, Mark hears Eduardo sigh, the bed shift, and then he's standing over Mark's shoulder, staring at the screen.  
   
"What's this?" he asks.  
   
"C++," Mark responds. "And Python."  
   
"Oh." Eduardo stands there for a second, distractingly close and smelling unfairly good, until he dips his face to Mark's ear and whispers, "Sounds boring," and it's all warm and tickly, and Mark—Mark shivers from the root of his very being, and if he thought there was any chance of recovering his focus, then Mark is _wrong_ , because then Eduardo sucks Mark's earlobe into his mouth and _hums_.  
   
Or purrs.  
   
Whatever.  
   
The point is, Mark's rendered totally and completely stupefied, his hand slack on the mouse while his thighs flex and his spine bows.  
   
As if that wasn't enough to make Mark forget that there's a computer in front of him, Eduardo begins kissing his neck, open-mouthed and lascivious, and then his _hand_ presses hard against Mark's chest, rubbing (Mark always knew there'd be rubbing), and creeping down and down and down, until Eduardo, hunched and bent over Mark's shoulder, cups Mark's crotch.  
   
Mark _does not_ cream his pants.  
   
Mark _does_ make a sound akin to a small fluffy animal being kicked.  
   
It's, like, a squawk.  
   
Or a yelp.  
   
Eduardo's mouth closes around Mark's neck, and there are _teeth_ , and his hand is rubbing rubbing rubbing (Mark _loves_ rubbing), and Mark kind of falls back against his chair and grabs wildly at the armrests. Eduardo forces Mark's face to the side, where their tongues can meet in a brief and sloppy kiss, and Mark arches up from the chair to chase Eduardo's lips when he suddenly disappears.  
  
  
Eduardo drops back to the bed, propped on his elbows, eyes dark and hooded when Mark immediately swivels to face him.  
   
This is when Mark just happens to glance down Eduardo's body, noting his suit and perfectly tailored _everything_ , and Mark's mouth goes dry when he swallows, and his lips part when he realizes the bulge in Eduardo's crotch is definitely definitely not the curve of his zipper and is totally totally a boner.  
   
Mark stares.  
   
For, like, an inappropriate and uncomfortable length of time.  
   
"You can touch it," Eduardo offers. "If you want."  
   
If Mark _wants_?  
   
Mark does a scurry-ish roll-walk in his chair toward the bed, until he's close enough to reach out a tentative and unsteady hand, place it directly over the outline of Eduardo's erection, and just—rest it there—feeling the heat and pulse and _twitch_ beneath his clammy palm.  
   
Mark is entirely transfixed by the feel of it.  
  
The room is quiet enough that he can hear Eduardo's gulp when Mark's hand finally moves over Eduardo's crotch, rubbing and stroking and testing this and that, a little curiously.  
   
Eduardo exhales in a groan, lets his head fall back, and rests there like that—eyes closed and thighs spread as Mark experiments, sometimes dropping low, sometimes thumbing high, over his zipper or adjusting Eduardo to the side of it so he can press a line down the center.  
   
Of course, Eduardo is hung.  
   
Because he wouldn't be perfect enough with his perfect voice and perfect hair and perfect arms and perfect eyes and perfect fingers and perfect mouth and perfect thighs if there weren't a perfect penis to complete the perfect package.  
   
Classic overachiever.  
   
Sometimes—  
   
Well, usually.  
   
Mark just feels, like...  
   
So _fucking inferior_ to Eduardo.  
   
Mark is _not_ hung, alright? He's not _small_ , but he's just normal, like everything else about himself with the exception of his brain and his lack of social tolerance.  
   
He gets a little sad, you know?  
   
Because Mark—always a cynic—is just so positive that Eduardo is out of his league tenfold.

 

"Come here," Eduardo breathes, and Mark tears his eyes away from his perfectly hung penis and finds Eduardo staring at him, all intense and drunk-eyed, but he never gives Mark the chance, because Eduardo reaches forward and grabs Mark by the collar, yanking him until Mark is falling out of the chair and onto Eduardo.  
   
He lands pretty hard on a rib, and Eduardo _oomph_ 's, wincing, but his hips press up into Mark's and then their mouths are open and on each other’s', and Mark's brain stops working.  
   
Mark humps Eduardo.  
   
He doesn't _mean to_ , but it's just that—he's there, on top of him, and their boners press together, which is—  
   
Yeah.  
   
And so Mark just braces himself on his elbows and starts humping down onto Eduardo's body, all frantic and gaspy and strangely determined until he realizes what he must look like, all bent and humping like that, like he's a fucking jackrabbit or something.  
   
So embarrassing.  
   
But when he tries to stop, Eduardo does this push-flip-bounce thing where he rolls Mark over onto his back, and then Eduardo—  
   
He says, all gruff and breathless into Mark's ear, "Spread these," and wedges a palm between Mark's thighs, pushing them apart.  
   
Mark is so close to becoming a serial premature ejaculator right then, and he attributes a lot of appalling mental images to the fact that he can somehow isolate it to a one-time occurrence.  
   
Eduardo settles between Mark’s legs and grabs Mark’s hands, and while they're licking into each other's mouths, Eduardo lifts them over Mark's head and pins them to the mattress—uses that point of contact for leverage while he rocks into Mark, panting hot into his mouth.  
   
So when Mark decides to employ Tip #25, it's not necessarily because he wants to seduce Eduardo, who is already sliding against Mark in the most delicious way, and it's definitely not because Mark feels dissatisfied with the current position, because _believe him_ , Eduardo pinning his hands down like this is just—  
   
Mark nods pointlessly into the kiss.  
   
It's awesome.  
   
They should dedicate award shows to it.  
   
But Mark wrestles his hands away and he's free to reach down and grab two handfuls of Eduardo's tight, flexing ass cheeks, which is all he _really_ wants, for obvious reasons.  
   
Mark has a lot less time than he'd like to dig his fingertips into the flesh there, guiding Eduardo's hips higher and closer, and sliding their bodies against one another, because Eduardo makes this choking, grunty sound into Mark's mouth, and it's hot, so so hot, and Mark can't—he just can't cream his pants again and live with himself.  
   
With a gasp, Mark wedges his hand between their bodies and pushes Eduardo up and up, until Mark can grab the waist of his sweats and pull them _down_ , and yank his shirt _up_.  
   
Mark grabs his erection and tugs at it until he's sobbing breaths into the space between them, spurting ribbons all over his stomach and chest.  
                               
Before Mark's even done shaking and huffing, Eduardo's suddenly unbuttoning his own pants, tearing down the zipper, and pulling himself free, and if Mark were physically capable of having another orgasm before this one's even concluded, then it would happen when he saw Eduardo's dick for the first time, hard and purple and leaking _because of Mark_.  
   
And when Eduardo swipes a palm over Mark's stomach, collecting and smearing everything, which he then uses to jerk himself off with, Mark mutters a low, "Ohmygod," and watches, mesmerized as Eduardo stares down at the blur of his own hand, red-faced and gasping for air.  
   
Eduardo comes all over Mark.  
   
And Eduardo also makes _sounds_.  
   
These broken, tense, pleading sounds.  
   
Mark keeps replaying them in his head, even when Eduardo's body's gone slack and he sits back on his heels, wiping his top lip with the cuff of a sleeve.  
   
Mark is covered in spunk, from pubes to throat.  
   
It makes Eduardo laugh. "What can I use?"  
   
And Mark's like, _What? You can_ talk?  
   
Mark wishes he could talk.  
   
Instead, he just points dumbly to the towel he'd used after that morning's shower.  
   
*  
   
 **Move #4: Send him a "Let's fuck tonight" message.**  
   
It hits Mark later that night—after Eduardo's left and Mark can reflect on all the sounds and Eduardo jerking off and the way Eduardo's breath tastes when he's frantic and horny.  
   
Eduardo _seduced_ Mark.  
   
With _Mark's own fucking move._  
   
It totally blows his mind.  
   
Eduardo just waltzed over to Mark's chair, whispered into his ear, and so smoothly got into Mark's pants.  
   
How the hell?  
   
That's when it hits him.  
   
These "tips" aren't a guidebook. They're just meant to be inspirational, you know? Like. Ideas or supplements. Not necessarily an instruction manual.  
   
Therefore, Mark is now realizing that doing these things alone will _not_ make Mark appealing.  
   
 _Mark_ has to make Mark appealing. The tips are just there to inspire various methods of conveying his intent of seduction.  
   
So, yeah.  
   
He gets that now.  
   
Eduardo so easily seduced Mark because he was sexy (and well, also because he was Eduardo in general), not just because he sucked on Mark's earlobe.  
   
Mark understands now. At least. He thinks he does. He needs to put his own spin on these things. Make them Markesque. Get creative. Apply them to his specific situation and character.  
   
Mark's so inspired by this epiphany that he wants to employ it the following the day. He has big plans for Tip #22, and he can barely think about anything else, because Tip #22?  
   
It involves a shower.  
   
Mark’s just saying.  
   
But Eduardo never comes over.  
   
So Mark waits for the following day.  
   
And Eduardo doesn't come over _then_ either.  
   
Mark gets frustrated, and—  
   
If he's being honest?  
   
A little scared.  
   
What if Eduardo's come to his senses and realized how spastic and incompetent Mark really is?  
   
What if Mark grossed him out or—  
   
God.  
   
What if Mark makes really stupid faces when he comes?  
   
"Have you tried just calling him?" Chris asks when Mark goes to him with a metaphor about a friend who kind of had sexual relations with another friend, and now the friend is suddenly absent, and what does this sort of behavior suggest about the other friend's _feelings_ and such?  
   
Mark opens his mouth to correct Chris and insist it's a _friend_ , but Mark gives Chris more credit than that.  
   
No one would believe Mark has other friends.  
   
So Mark just stalks away and decides to risk seeming clingy. Or whatever.  
   
He texts Eduardo: _where r u?_  
   
Eduardo's response doesn't come until an hour later: _my room?_  
   
Mark stares thoughtfully at the reply for a long while, wondering how to best be desperate without seeming desperate. _wanna come over?_  
   
 _can't. writing an essay :(_  
   
Mark mimics the frowny face and growls in frustration at his phone. _you can do it here._  
   
 _i wouldn't get anything done over there and you know it_  
   
Well.  
   
This is a confusing response for Mark. It could mean that Eduardo might have limited self-control when it comes to Mark, which—  
   
Mark cracks a grin to himself.  
   
Or it could mean—  
   
 _i'll tell C and D to leave you alone_  
   
After a minute: _they arent the ones who distract me ;)_  
   
Mark exhales into a laugh that's so cheeky his jaw hurts.  
   
Then he glances around to make sure no one saw it.  
   
 _how close are you to being done?_  
   
 _*_  
   
Eduardo answers, _not even a little. why?_  
   
And this is it.  
   
This is _Mark's chance_.  
   
It takes Mark forever to answer, because he's not as creative as he'd like to be, and he's also indecisive, and he gets really flustered because he keeps _thinking_ about what he intends to convey with his spin on Tip #4.  
   
It seems simple.  
   
The point of the tip isn't to just type, "Let's fuck tonight." Mark gets that now, remember? So Mark picks it apart and tries to understand what _makes_ that a move men love.  
   
It's the bluntness of it, he decides, the obscene nature of the content fused with spontaneity.  
   
It's like basically science.  
   
Or math.  
   
After just enough time to preserve the impulsive characteristic of the concept (exactly twenty minutes), Mark is resolute.  
   
 _i want to see how much of your dick i can fit in my mouth._  
   
Mark blushes from head to toe after he sends the text. And he's nervous. So nervous. This is the kind of thing that backfires _all the time_. Mark begins remembering everyone he ever made a move on in high school, and how blunt he always was, more out of simple practicality than anything, since it had never made sense to Mark to do all that beating around the bush.  
   
Mark remembers being slapped.  
   
At least three times.  
   
The guys reacted far worse, though Mark supposes that had more to do with them being homophobic than anything, but still.  
   
Mark paces the floor of his room and he—  
   
He wishes there were a way to unsend it.  
   
 _Especially so_ when Eduardo doesn't respond, even forty minutes later.  
   
Mark is already typing out an apology when he bursts through his door.  
   
Eduardo, that is.  
   
Mark is stunned to see him standing there, all flushed and kind of breathless, in a dingy t-shirt and wrinkled pants, which is about as un-put-together as Mark has ever seen him.  
   
Mark lifts his hand, waving weakly.  
   
Eduardo, who closes the door behind him, clears the room in three strides and has Mark against his desk, kissing Mark and pressing into him with his hips, and breathing hard into his mouth. Mark's still processing all of this, only just now throwing all that he is into meeting Eduardo's slick tongue thrusts when the sound of Eduardo's zipper jars him.  
   
Mark drops to his knees pretty much instantly, wrapping his mouth around firm, warm flesh, and pushing Eduardo's hips against the desk as he bobs and sucks and licks, and Eduardo—  
   
Eduardo touches Mark's hair, muttering, "Yeah, _god_. That's—so good, Mark. So evil, but so good." He laughs brokenly as he says this, and Mark would laugh too if his mouth wasn't full of Eduardo's dick, because as he discovers, he can't really fit _anywhere near_ all of it in there, and if he gags once or twice while trying, then no one can blame him for aiming high.  
   
Since Eduardo ends up coming inside Mark's mouth in three minutes flat, shaking and gasping and pulling Mark's hair into his fists, Mark supposes _nowhere near all of it_ is enough.  
   
Eduardo falls back onto Mark's desk while Mark stands, wiping the slobber and spunk from his lips and chin with a sleeve because he's only done that one other time, and he's not that good, but then—  
   
Eduardo looks satisfied.  
   
Never has a sloppy and kind of gross experience been so personally rewarding for Mark.  
   
He does his best impression of unaffected.  
   
Eduardo still sits somewhat awkwardly, presumably since spit and jizz have possibly dripped between his legs at some point. "I—"  
   
Mark has rendered him speechless.  
   
He knew it.  
   
Mark _is_ a smooth motherfucker.  
   
He finishes for Eduardo, "You have to finish your essay. Understandable."  
   
Eduardo chokes a laugh, staring at Mark with big eyes. "You tricked me."  
   
"No," Mark argues. "Tricking you would entail a complete lack of everything that just happened. I delivered in full, so technically..."  
   
Eduardo lifts his shirt from his head and uses it to clean up the mess Mark's made of his crotch, concluding, " _Seduced_ me, whatever. It's not fair. I really do have to go back and finish." And he looks so apologetic with his shiny eyes when he grabs one of Mark's shirts and makes to leave, but Mark doesn't expect instant reciprocation, and he says so.  
   
Seduction's about _patience_.  
   
Mark—he gets that now.  
   
*  
   
 **Move #22. Surprise him while he's in the shower.**  
   
Mark and Eduardo text back and forth the rest of the week. Sometimes they'll "catch" one another walking to class and stop and talk, or make fun of the jock who broke his leg and totally had it coming, or exchange thinly-veiled innuendo that Mark's still getting the hang of, and sometimes—  
   
Sometimes, when no one's around, when halls are empty, or they pass by an alley, or they can sneak behind a door, Mark and Eduardo will kiss, almost frantically mouth to mouth while their hands find collars and belt loops and pull their bodies closer and closer. Mark likes those times best, because when they're forced to break apart and continue on their path, Eduardo will do this _stuff_.  
   
This strangely _affectionate_ stuff.  
   
It comes as a surprise to Mark. He’s never been much of an affectionate person, and since people will usually avoid giving affection to someone who won’t—or doesn’t know quite how to—return that affection, Mark so rarely encounters it.  
   
It’s never bothered him. Mark’s never sought it out, and he hasn’t felt lacking at all in his otherwise brief interactions with others, but now—  
   
Mark is intercepting Eduardo’s path to Econ (totally by coincidence). Their eyes meet across the street, and Eduardo ducks behind a statue nearby. Mark finds him there, slouched against it, legs spread just enough to seem rather come-hither-y.  
   
They kiss, wet and loud, and the entire time, Eduardo has his arms around Mark’s waist, and Mark—he really wishes Eduardo would pay more attention to his very neglected ass-region, but he’s not quite sure how to articulate that. He also feels a little disappointed when a group of students walk their way and they have to separate, but then Eduardo—  
   
Eduardo presses his lips beneath Mark’s ear, brushes his fingertips against Mark’s palm, and gently scratches it.  
   
This is what Eduardo does—the affection thing? It makes Mark feel…  
   
Well, it makes Mark _feel_.  
   
It’s not something he can explain.  
   
It’s tender.  
   
He doesn’t know how to express it back and it bothers him.  
   
Mark watches the passing group when Eduardo leaves. The couple-y, gross people within it. Just to see how they do that—how they express affection. And Mark thinks their actions—arms thrown across shoulders and hands tucked into back pockets—seem generic and done more out of habit or societal obligation than anything.  
   
Mark doesn’t want that.  
   
He can’t put a name to whatever he feels when Eduardo does those things, but Mark knows it’s definitely not artificial.  
   
So. Since Mark is decidedly against generic affection, he decides to simply do nothing.  
   
Let it come naturally.  
   
Or whatever.  
   
The whole thing is stressing him out.  
   
Instead, Mark goes back to the drawing board for his next attempt at seduction. He’s getting good at that. He’ll keep his cart behind his horse, thank you very much.  
   
The problem? Eduardo—he's just so busy. He has so much on his plate, and maybe Mark can sort of relate? Since he doesn't have many extra-curricular activities, but Mark does have other obligations. Online obligations. He's still uploading software and keeping up with the ever-changing industry, but most of the time, Mark just wishes Eduardo would be there—in his room—with his dick in Mark's mouth.  
   
The timing is just never right.  
   
So Mark decides to _make_ it right.  
   
Eduardo has an Investor’s Club meeting every third Tuesday of the month at precisely eight in the morning. Because they are all freaks who actually wake up early enough to be punctual for that kind of shit.  
   
Mark has been infatuated with Tip #22 ever since he first found the _Redbook_ sitting in his dentist’s waiting room.  
   
Actually.  
   
Mark has probably been infatuated with Tip #22 since before he realized _Redbook_ was even a thing.  
   
Since Eduardo has to be at the meeting at seven, Mark calculates that he’ll be most likely to catch Eduardo showering in his room between the hours of five and six on Tuesday morning.  
   
It’s not like he’s given this much thought or anything.  
   
Since there’s no way Mark’s waking up _that_ fucking early, he just stays up late. It’s not that difficult, what with Red Bulls and sugar and all the jerking off he does to make certain he can last through… whatever it is that might happen.  
   
Mark is _so excited_ by the time he leaves the dorm. Also maybe a little over-stimulated from caffeine. If Mark almost loses a flip-flop doing something that may or may not resemble a prance through campus, then no one’s around to prove it.  
   
He sits outside Eduardo’s room with his ear to the wall, awaiting the sound of running plumbing. Mark doesn’t want to imagine what he must look like, standing there in the dark like a total creeper. His paranoia only amplifies when the plumbing _does_ sound, because despite his brief moment of celebration that he’d gotten the time so precise, he realizes he has to break into Eduardo’s room.  
   
It’s not hard, Mark Googled it.  
   
When he finally makes it inside, Mark undresses right there, so the sounds of his wired fumbling won’t ruin his surprise.  
   
Mark does a push-up or ten before sneaking into the bathroom, steam filling his nostrils with the smell of scented soap and heat. His feet smack too loudly against the tiles and Mark cups his junk, takes a breath, and steps behind the shower curtain. Eduardo is beneath the water, all _wet_ and sinewy, and his ass is _ridiculous_.  
   
When he sees Mark, Eduardo emits a sound not totally unlike that of a screech, covering his crotch with sudsy hands.  
   
Mark’s eyes go big when he suddenly realizes that Tip #22?  
   
It’s a little illegal.  
   
And stalker-y.  
   
“Mark?” Eduardo gasps, eyes squinting through the steam. “What the _hell_ are you—“  
   
Mark speaks weakly over him, “Surprise?”  
   
“—doing in my shower at six thirty in the morning?” Eduardo looks—well, not mad, but definitely some form of rattled.  
   
Mark tries to explain, “I was. Well, um. The—a surprise. For. Because you’re busy. And showers are—I had Red Bulls?”  
   
After a pause, Eduardo translates, “You had Red Bulls so you could be awake at six in the morning to surprise me in the shower, because I’m busy?” and Mark nods helplessly, which makes Eduardo sigh into a laugh, shaking his head. “You scared the crap out of me.”  
   
“I didn’t plan it through?”  
   
Lies.  
   
Eduardo smiles, like he doesn’t mind, but then, they’re both still holding onto their junk, and Mark slaps his feet around in the water, suddenly awkward.  
   
He resolves to push through it by just dropping his hands, clearing his throat, and reaching out a hand to poke Eduardo in the side.  
   
“Hi.”  
   
Eduardo mimics him with a sly smile. “Hi.” Except he doesn’t poke Mark, so much as he grabs his wrist and pulls him closer.  
   
Their kiss is slippery.  
   
So are their chests.  
   
And then, when they start getting hard, their bobbing erections cross and graze, which makes Mark press himself closer, until they’re caught between their slippery bodies, and that is—  
   
Yeah.  
   
Eduardo muses while mouthing at Mark’s neck, “I think I still owe you something,” and his hand presses into the small of Mark’s back, but fails to go any lower, and that makes Mark—  
   
“About that,” he begins, and since he’s pretty sure there’s no graceful way of making this request, Mark stutters, “W-w-with the…? Yeah. It’d be— _great_. But, alternatively. If you—I mean, you might _not_. And it’s. I won’t mind—”  
   
Eduardo looks surprised when he meets Mark’s gaze. “You want something else?”  
   
To this, Mark nods.  
   
He nods _fervently_.  
   
“Like what?” And Eduardo’s smile is fond—expectant even—like Mark could say _I want you to lick my toes_ and Eduardo would drop down on all fours and do just that, no reservations, but Mark—  
   
“Um. Uhhh, well.” He blushes furiously and is so flustered with the idea of even saying it aloud, that he ends up just verbally vomiting, “Sometimes I look at your fingers a lot.”  
   
And then Mark does it.  
   
Looks at Eduardo’s fingers.  
   
Eduardo curves an eyebrow. “You get off on looking at my fingers?”  
   
Frustrated, Mark shakes his head. “Not _exactly_ …”  
   
Eduardo’s eyes widen—perhaps a spark of comprehension. And then (because Mark told you so, he and Eduardo were _so_ made for each other) his hand _finally finally_ falls below Mark’s back, sweeps over the curve of his ass, and he presses his _fingers_ into the crevice there, asking, “Here?”  
   
Mark does that frantic nodding thing again, only now, he’s sort of panting in anticipation, because most guys would give their left arms to get head from just about anyone, but Mark—  
   
 _This_ is what Mark likes, above all else.  
   
He holds onto Eduardo’s shoulder when they begin kissing again, Eduardo pressing all the while, closer and closer, and then eventually, he’s massaging and prodding _there_ , and Mark’s tongue stops moving.  
   
He just stands there, mouth agape, as Eduardo pushes his finger inside.  
   
Mark’s toes curl.  
   
Then the water goes cold.  
   
Eduardo yelps, jumps away, and scurries to turn the water off, leaving behind him a very disgruntled Mark. Luckily, Eduardo returns with a laugh, spins Mark around, and slips his finger back between his spread cheeks.  
   
Mark stares at the tile wall as Eduardo fingers him, a little tentatively at first, but then Eduardo begins thrusting with more and more certainty, eventually adding some soap to his fingers and kissing along Mark’s nape as he pushes pushes pushes.  
   
Mark makes sounds.  
   
Probably embarrassing sounds.  
   
Embarrassing, positive sounds.  
   
“You like that?” Eduardo asks. Not in that cocky smug way that would totally kill it for Mark, but in this really gentle, almost nervous kind of way.  
   
“Yeah. Yes. One hundred and ten percent, yes—“ Mark finds it hard to continue with his train of thought when Eduardo adds a second finger.  
   
Mark jerks himself off, since the position is awkward and Eduardo is a little busy thrusting his fingers into Mark, his knuckles slapping against Mark’s skin when Mark encourages, “More, more, more.”  
   
Eduardo’s breath is loud and rapid at Mark’s ear.  
   
When he comes, Mark muffles a cry into his arm, knees shaking. He’d probably fall onto the shower floor if Eduardo’s fingers weren’t being shoved so _strongly_ up Mark’s ass that they basically hold his weight.  
   
While Mark recovers, Eduardo jerks off over his spread ass, all wet, squelchy skin sounds and teeth-gnashed grunts.  
   
It’s the most obscene thing Mark has ever experienced.  
   
They both rush through what’s returned of the hot water to clean themselves, and when the water turns off, Eduardo does the thing again. The strangely _affectionate_ , palm scratching thing. It invokes that new, unfamiliar tenderness that Mark’s growing oddly addicted to. It’s heavy and soft, all at the same time, and Mark—  
   
He doesn’t have a _thing_.  
   
A strangely _affectionate_ thing.  
   
But he wants one.  
   
So he ruffles Eduardo’s hair.  
   
Eduardo blinks at him, brows pulled together, and in a moment of panic, because Mark’s pretty sure that’s not quite the kind of affection he should be aiming for, Mark _hugs_ Eduardo.  
   
Really tight.  
   
He steps away with a satisfied nod, and tries not to read much into Eduardo’s perplexed grin.  
   
*  
   
 **Move #26: Prop him up with pillows during oral sex so he can see your eyes.**  
   
Just when Eduardo’s workload seems to ease up, Mark’s grows. He has another project due, more labs, two essays, and the software he’s been developing needs tons of bug-fixes thanks to an unexpected infrastructure update that has Mark and Dustin raging for days.  
   
Mark feels a little less bad about his own impatience when Eduardo employs his own version of dirty tactics.  
   
 _im not wearing pants,_ Eduardo texts one day.  
   
It’s difficult, very difficult when Mark knows Eduardo’s thighs are bare and that he’s in his room, waiting for Mark to come and discover them, but Mark is forced to respond, _raincheck?_  
   
After a long pause, Eduardo replies, _I wanted to see how many of my fingers I could fit in your ass_ , and Mark is sliding his feet into his flip-flops and running out the door before his computer has even shut down all the way.  
   
For the record, three.  
   
But in Eduardo’s defense, Mark didn’t last long enough for further investigation.  
   
When Mark has the time, when Eduardo comes over and waits on his bed, he gives him blowjob after blowjob, and Mark doesn’t like to toot his own horn or anything, but he’s getting good at those, so Eduardo never complains about being neglected for most of the time he’s present.  
   
It’s what he’s expecting tonight, since he’s hunched over his desk, typing away about something not-computer related, because they make him take History courses, like it’s something Mark will ever use.  
   
He minimizes to desktop a lot. The black one. With the reflection of Eduardo behind him. Every few minutes, he’ll do it, and each time, he’s greeted with a new pose from Eduardo, and Mark _really_ wants to finish this essay so that he can go and bury his face into Eduardo’s crotch, so he resolves to stop looking.  
   
After one more time.  
   
Eduardo’s reflection is lying on his side, head propped on a palm as he reads from a book. No—not a book.  
   
A magazine.  
   
A red magazine.  
   
Mark turns and dives at the bed in a motion so quick that he misses his target entirely, launching himself promptly over the corner of his bed, and landing with a hard _crack_ onto the floor. Mark lays there, cradling his side in pain as Eduardo hums thoughtfully.  
   
“Mark?”  
   
Mark wheezes, “Yeah?”  
   
“Have you been using tips from a women’s magazine to seduce me?”  
   
Mark considers denying it, but knows it’s no use.  
   
He may or may not have made notes in the margin.  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
Eduardo asks, “Me, _exclusively_?” to which Mark rolls his eyes.  
   
“No, I’m seducing you _and_ the entire lacrosse team, I’m a very busy guy.”  
   
“It’s just—you have this one crossed out, and—“ The bed shifts when Eduardo peeks at Mark over the edge, eyes bewildered. “When did we go lingerie shopping?”  
   
Mark stares.  
   
Then Eduardo gives this incredulous, very un-Wardo-like snort. “Wal-Mart? You took me to Wal-Mart to shop for boxer-briefs for the purpose of _seducing_ me?”  
   
Mark shrugs against the floor.  
   
“Not that I’m not flattered by all this… _effort_ , but you do realize—” And then Eduardo pauses, like he might not finish, fingering the edges of the magazine paper instead. Mark’s about to protest that with a manner of indignation, but Eduardo eventually concludes in this small, reluctant voice, “I’ve been pretty much stupidly in love with you from day one?”  
   
Mark doesn’t know what to say.  
   
 _Love_?  
   
“Are you _sure_?” Mark sort of thinks he’d notice something like that.  
   
Now Eduardo rolls his eyes, “Yes Mark, I’m sure—also apparently a masochist, because you’re kind of an asshole, you know?”  
   
“Yeah.” That he’s been one to Eduardo makes Mark sad.  
   
“Don’t be sad,” Eduardo insists. “You don’t always mean to be, it just has more impact—on me—than others? Or something.”  
   
“You wouldn’t even look at my ass,” Mark accuses.  
   
Eduardo balks, pulling himself closer to the edge, and rants, “What are you talking about? I’m _always_ looking at your ass, Mark. I need an ass intervention. I have to, like, distract myself with other things just so I _won’t_ become a total assoholic. You have a hole in your shorts, by the way. In the back pocket of the khakis? I’m always picking up your change.” Eduardo then nods pointedly to the pile of quarters and dimes that’s always left on Mark’s desk, just beside his mouse.  
   
Mark is flabbergasted. Like the threads of his very reality are unraveling in some way. He gapes up at Eduardo and swears, “I never noticed.”  
   
“I know.” And now it’s Eduardo who sounds sad, flopping back onto the bed.  
   
Mark clears his throat, maybe so when he speaks, it won’t sound as loud and earth-shattering as it feels to admit, “For what it’s worth, I have… _feelings_ too.”  
   
After a long moment of Mark’s fidgeting, Eduardo breathes, “For me?”  
   
“I’m not good at expressing them.”  
   
“Well yeah.” Eduardo laughs before breathing, “I’ve been worried.”  
   
“Worried?”  
   
“That this is just… sexual for you.”  
   
The silence is palpable—thick—and Mark just feels so _stupid_. All this time _pining_ and plotting, and Eduardo’s been staring at Mark’s ass? And he’s _in love_ with Mark? And Mark is ruffling his hair and giving him awkward hugs?  
   
“Wardo?”  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
“It’s not,” Mark promises. And then, because it seems like the thing to do when two people who are enjoying orgasms from one another have _feelings_ , Mark decides, “You should be my boyfriend.”  
   
In a pause that seems to stretch on for years, but is actually probably only a few seconds, Eduardo softly agrees, “Okay.”  
   
Mark adds, “And have sex with me all the time.”  
   
Another laugh, “Okay.”  
   
“And do my essays for Art History.”  
   
“Mark,” Eduardo sighs, all long and burdened, but with a smile audible in his voice. “Get off the floor and come try out #26, okay?”  
   
“The one with the pillows?” Mark sits up and peeks over the bed in an attempt to read from the open magazine. “And then you’ll do my essay?”  
   
Eduardo smirks. “And then I’ll try getting to that fourth finger again.”  
   
*  
   
 **Move #15: Say you’re going to take a nap, but strip suggestively. Let him find you naked and ready.**  
   
Dustin enters whistling, head nodding along to whatever is playing on his MP3 player.  
   
When he sees Mark’s face, he freezes.  
   
The whistling dies.  
   
He pulls an earbud from his ear. “Yikes, you’re mad.”  
   
Mark agrees, “Yes.”  
   
“At me?”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
“It’s kind of scary.”  
   
Again, Mark agrees, “Yes.”  
   
“What did I do?”  
   
Mark produces a large, crinkly silver bag, which is _empty_. “Care to explain this?”  
   
Dustin worries his lip, shrugging. “They were yummy in my tummy?”  
   
“I had plans for these.”  
   
“Whatever man, I’ll buy you more.”  
   
“I need them _now_. Tonight. In one hour. Can you do that, Dustin? Can you magically reproduce an entire bag of Hershey Kisses in under sixty minutes without devouring them as if they are, in fact, the only sustenance available on planet fucking Earth?”  
   
Dustin laughs, “Nope.”  
   
Mark’s nostrils flare as he crushes the bag in a fist, and Dustin’s laugh transforms to a gulp.  
   
“You’ve been a diva lately, Mark. Have you given any consideration to _getting laid_?”  
   
Which was the exact wrong thing to say, so Mark reaches for the nearest semi-heavy item (Dustin’s shoe, of course), and chucks it at his head.  
   
Dustin ducks and flees the room, and Mark is left sitting there, on the sofa, with no Hershey Kisses.  
   
Dustin just _ate_ Tip #19.  
   
Tip #20 was ruled out when Mark discovered just how much roses cost, and he wasn’t even particularly attached to that one, because a trail of rose petals to the bedroom? Girly and stupid, and Mark had thought, well.  
   
At least Hershey Kisses can be eaten afterward?  
   
After Mark _finally_ got laid, that is.  
   
It was practical.  
   
But now they’re gone, and he has no rose petals, and Eduardo will be here in an hour, and Mark doesn’t know how to _seduce_ him into promptly and thoroughly _fucking_ Mark, because they’ve been “boyfriends” for like almost two months, and Mark—Mark _loves_ getting finger-fucked by Eduardo more than just about anything, but Mark is ready to get fuck-fucked, and Eduardo—  
   
He keeps skirting around it.  
   
Mark _must_ seduce him.  
   
With an expression that must convey _the world will end if Eduardo’s dick isn’t shoved up my ass in three hours or less_ , Mark bursts into his room and flips frantically through the tattered _Redbook_.  
   
Mark’s already used all hand-related moves, and he’s already tried #8. For the record, trench coats and hoodies are apparently _not_ interchangeable when it comes to seduction moves involving nudity in public. Completely loses effect.  
   
Mark has given numbers 27 and 28 commendable effort, but Eduardo’s just usually _behind_ Mark when Mark is orgasming, so any _deep gazes_ of emotional significance are missed.  
   
Eduardo doesn’t watch sports, so #23 is out of the question.  
   
Mark figures his best bet is #15, and then he resolves to buy a new issue of _Redbook_ , because this one has been exhausted to the point of shame.  
   
Eduardo struts in at exactly ten, all clean-shaven and perfect-haired and tailored and tall and—  
   
Mark sighs.  
   
He’s _so_ getting laid tonight.  
   
“Where is everyone?” Eduardo asks, falling beside Mark on the couch.  
   
“Out.”  
   
Eduardo’s eyebrows rise at that, his arm lifting and lifting, until it’s draped behind Mark’s shoulders, resting on the couch there. “That so?”  
   
“We are completely _alone_.” If Mark put any stronger emphasis on the word, it’d emerge from his mouth sounding like, _Your cock would feel amazing up my anus, please and thanks._  
   
Eduardo grins and mouths along Mark’s jaw, nipping the sensitive spot where face turns to neck. “What should we do?” he asks against Mark’s skin, hand already groping for Mark’s crotch.  
   
Mark stands, rigid, and looking over his shoulder, declares, “I’m going to take a nap, actually.”  
   
Eduardo’s face falls, head snapping back in shock. “A _nap_?”  
   
Mark lifts one shoulder before walking away, removing his shirt as he goes. He tries to do the slow stripping thing, but the truth is, Mark’s room isn’t far enough from the couch to merit it. He has to slow his step when he realizes he was basically in a sprint and is already a foot away from his door.  
   
 _Aw fuck it_ , he thinks, and just throws off his shirt right there, in his doorway. Then he drops his pants, looking behind him while bent over, and Eduardo is staring at Mark, but he’s—  
   
He looks kind of mad.  
   
Mark yanks his jeans off one foot, but loses his balance and has to catch himself on the frame of the door, face flushing red as he disappears inside.  
   
He gets naked, lies on his bed, and waits.  
   
Mark experiments with a few differing poses. First, on his side, hand propped on a palm in a very _I am ready for your penis, Mr. Saverin_ kind of position.  
   
You know.  
   
Classy.  
   
But then, Mark looks down, sees his dick kind of flopped unflatteringly over his thigh, and decides against that.  
   
Second, Mark lies on his back, but that seems boring, so he lifts onto his elbows, stares at his toes and waits.  
   
But he decides that he wants there to be _no mistaking_ exactly what it is he desires, so Mark throws all caution and dignity to the wind and gets on all fours.  
   
Ass up.  
   
Head down.  
   
Mark gets comfortable feeling the air on his exposed—and already well-lubricated—skin.  
   
He’s already stretched himself.  
   
Mark wiggles his ass in the air, grinning.  
   
He waits.  
   
...and waits.  
   
Looks over his shoulder at the door.  
   
Stares at his pillow again.  
   
Picks at a loose thread.  
   
That’s when Mark hears the door opening. His face breaks into a wide grin as he bows his back, feels his ass cheeks spread obscenely.  
   
He might even moan—you know. For atmospheric effect.  
   
There is a horrific scream.  
   
A bag of Hershey Kisses lands on the floor with a crinkly _pop_.  
   
Mark screams back, covers his crotch, and leaps from the bed. “What are you doing,” he shrieks.  
   
“What am _I_ doing?” Dustin repeats, pale-faced. “What are _you_ doing?”  
   
“Whatever I want. This is my room!”  
   
“I need bleach.” Dustin scrubs at his eyes, head shaking. “Inside my brain, right this second. Make it go away!”  
   
Eduardo _would_ choose now to come barging into the room, eyes big and panicked as he demands, “What’s wrong?” Of course, once he sees Mark’s very naked and tense state, his panic transforms into a wry expression. “I thought you were taking a nap?”  
   
Dustin turns to Eduardo, shoving a finger at Mark. “Wardo, I’ve seen things. Appalling things!”  
   
“You can’t seriously be this dense,” Mark insists, mouth agape. “Number fifteen, remember? With the. And I took off my clothes. Before. And then the nap.” Mark points needlessly at the bed. “I was waiting for you.”  
   
Mark is mad—mad and mortified and red and—he wants a hole to magically appear so he can promptly crawl into it and _die_.  
   
Dustin’s eyes grow so big, Mark worries they might fall out. “You were doing _that_ for _him_?”  
   
Eduardo crosses his arms over his chest, lips set into an angry-thin line. “Yeah, Mark. Please enlighten us as to why you’re sitting in bed, naked, waiting for me.”  
   
Mark gapes openly at Eduardo, shrieking, “Because you won’t fuck me!”  
   
“Ohmy _god_ ,” Dustin covers his ears and retreats from the room, calling behind him. “Enjoy your candy, I’m leaving. I need _Eternal Sunshine_ levels of mental help after this.”  
   
After he’s left, Eduardo and Mark just stare at one another, Mark sulking, Eduardo still inexplicably hostile.  
   
“We haven’t had sex yet,” Mark mumbles, and he’s rather compelled to bring up that frequent sex _had been_ a vital prerequisite to their change of relationship status.  
   
Eduardo shoves a finger at him, eyes livid. “You never asked or talked about it, Mark! You can’t just seduce me every time you want to get off. I know this might sound like crazy talk to you, but two people in a relationship? They have to eventually like, _mutually agree to do it_. God, it’s called communication! Do you only read the portions of _Redbook_ that get you laid?”  
   
Mark thinks for a moment. “Yes.”  
   
“Well it doesn’t always work like that!” Eduardo says, “Some things are too important to not be said aloud. And sometimes—sometimes there’s a fine line between seduction and manipulation, just so you know.”  
   
And then he leaves.  
   
Like, there’s for real flouncing and stuff. His coat is all billowy.  
   
So Mark is naked and still a man-virgin, and how is that even fair or like, remotely possible? He has to put on clothes now and—does Eduardo even know what an unnecessarily lubed asshole is like? It’s slippery and uncomfortable, is what it is.  
   
He rages around the dorm and eats half the bag of Hershey Kisses before Mark decides that he’s not going to take this.  
   
Mark is a person.  
   
He storms through campus like that—nostrils big and ass crack squelching—and he tells himself that he’s not all wrong here and that Eduardo apparently sucks at communication, too, because Mark doesn’t even know what he did wrong, and seduction is nothing like manipulation anyway.  
   
But then Mark realizes they’ve had a fight and he pauses right there, halfway between their two houses.  
   
Mark and his boyfriend are fighting.  
   
What if Eduardo doesn’t want to see him? What if Mark fucked up too bad? What if—even if Mark was totally in the right to want some sexing from his uber hot Brazilian boyfriend—Eduardo won’t care?  
   
If Mark is right, will it even ultimately matter if Eduardo is _gone_?  
   
Well obviously not.  
   
Mark turns and stomps back to Kirkland. He decides this is a problem not even _Redbook_ can solve, and even if it could, Mark has a hunch that Eduardo maybe might not want to be seduced at this particular point in time.  
   
Maybe he wants to be _romanced_.  
   
*  
It’s raining two hours later when Mark arrives at Eduardo’s dorm, which is apt.  
   
He shakes the water from his hair and squints up to where he approximates Eduardo’s window to be.  
   
The light is on.  
   
With a nod, Mark presses ‘play’ and lifts the boombox over his head.  
   
Finding it wasn’t easy. No one owns a boombox nowadays, unless you count Steven in 284L who has unhealthy levels of affection for the ‘80s, and Mark does, because Steven has approved this as a classic no-fail romantic gesture.  
   
“If this doesn’t get you laid, there’s no hope for you,” he had told Mark.  
   
The soft sounds of Peter Gabriel’s voice come crooning through the speakers. It sounds loud to Mark—also, apparently to the small group of passersby who pause to gawk at the spectacle like they might take out their picture phones in the very near future—but Mark wonders if it can be heard all the way up _there_ and he cranks the volume.  
   
He’s drawing a lot of attention.  
   
The camera phones make an appearance.  
   
Someone—male—is laughing.  
   
Someone—female—elbows them.  
   
A girl comes to stand beside him, follows his gaze to the window and she waits there with him, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. More girls join the fray, a couple guys. Mark had anticipated something a little more intimate, but whatever.  
   
Everyone is waiting for Eduardo.  
   
Just then, Peter’s voice begins to sound a lot less croon-y and a little more ominous. Mark lowers the boombox and frowns at the borderline satanic-voice emerging from it. He smacks it on the side and one of the girls breaks the silence.  
   
“I think the rain got inside.”  
   
Mark looks at her and back at the boombox, hitting it harder, even though it doesn’t help. “Fucking thing, it hasn’t even gotten to the chorus yet.”  
   
“You could just go up and talk to him,” someone else suggests, only Mark had never specified he was doing this for a guy and also the voice is uncomfortably familiar.  
   
Mark spins around and Eduardo’s there, drenched hair, little droplets falling from his lashes. “You—you’re supposed to be up there.” Mark points at the window as if to punctuate this, confused.  
   
The small group pivots to Eduardo, some surprised, but most grinning in anticipation. Mark had no idea his generation could be so excitedly voyeuristic.  
   
“I was getting the usual you’ve-been-an-ass-to-me supplies,” Eduardo explains, pulling the top of a liquor bottle from a soggy paper bag.  
   
“Oh.” Mark shifts awkwardly but eventually presses ‘stop’ because Peter’s singing about eyes and light and heat is getting creepy. “It’s a romantic gesture,” he explains of the boombox, and Eduardo nods.  
   
“I used my tiny brain to deduce that.”  
   
“Your brain’s not tiny,” Mark argues. “It’s just operating differently from mine, and I’d prefer if we could remedy that without a preventable separation.”  
   
Eduardo lifts an eyebrow.  
   
“I mean…” Mark deadpans, “Please don’t break up with me.”  
   
Eduardo’s face seems to soften, but it’s effortless, like maybe he was finding it difficult to appear angry at all. “Come upstairs,” he sighs, pushing past everyone.  
   
Mark smirks at the crowd as he cradles the boombox beneath his arm, their disappointed, unison sounds disappearing behind him as he follows Eduardo inside.  
   
“Does this mean you forgive me?” Mark asks when they’ve entered Eduardo’s room, both dripping messily onto the floor.  
   
Eduardo turns to him and tiredly says, “Yes.”  
   
“Does this mean we can have sex now?”  
   
“No.” He’s looking angry again.  
   
So Mark kind of is, too. “Seduction isn’t manipulation and also you suck at communication, too and I over-applied lube for your enormous penis and now whenever I walk it feels funny.” Mark adds, “And I’m sad.”  
   
Eduardo blinks at him before taking a deep breath, and Mark knows this. Eduardo is making a list, deciding which to tackle first. He goes chronologically. “When used in moderation, no, seduction isn’t manipulation, but when it’s the only tool a manipulative person—don’t give me that look, you know it’s true, Mark—when it’s all you do, it starts _feeling_ manipulative, okay?”  
   
Mark frowns. “So what am I supposed to do, just... ask politely?”  
   
“No—yes—sometimes, Mark, I don’t know, just.” Eduardo collapses into a chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sometimes, it should just happen naturally. And other times, seduction is nice. But other times, for the big stuff, like—like for example, this? Our first time?” He gives Mark a significant looks and concludes, “It shouldn’t be only on your terms. Maybe you could give me a say in it before... persuading me, you know?”  
   
“Oh.” Mark thinks he gets it. “Oh.” He’s pretty sure. “ _Oooooh._ ” No, he totally gets it.  
   
“See what I mean?”  
   
“Because I had a lot of time,” Mark realizes. “To plan and prepare, and you had nothing.”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
“I planned our first time without you.”  
   
“Exactly.”  
   
“You want it to be like, special and so on or something.”  
   
“Sure.”  
   
Mark is having an epiphany. “I’m having an epiphany.”  
   
“Does it include something about abuse of power?”  
   
“No, I already had that one.” Mark paces, very focused. It’s right there, he’s on the cusp of grasping something very important, and then—“I don’t think I have to seduce you anymore.”  
   
Eduardo throws his hands in the air. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”  
   
He turns to him, a little thrown. “You’ll have sex with me. Without pretense.”  
   
“Duh.”  
   
“That’s—” Well, it’s baffling is what it is. Without his seduction technique, Mark is just some awkward guy who sometimes runs into things because he’s so busy staring at his toes and contemplating graphical user interfaces. Strip away all the pretense and Mark isn’t a smooth motherfucker, he’s just—  
   
He’s just Mark.  
   
“You like me,” Mark realizes.  
   
“Of course I like you, Mark.” Eduardo rolls his eyes but then looks away, adding, “I love you, I told you that.”  
   
And he had, but the thing is, it’s almost more monumental to Mark that Eduardo likes him. You can’t choose who you love. You don’t have to like who you love. Mark loves his sisters, and he doesn’t like them at all. Obviously, the type of love is different, but the sentiment still applies.  
   
“I never said it back,” Mark remembers.  
   
“I noticed.” Eduardo looks at him and it’s not expectant in any way, not like a prompt, you know, for Mark to go ahead and spit it out so he can get laid and Eduardo will be happy. Actually, Eduardo simply smiles, sort of sad, but ultimately accepting.  
   
Mark doesn’t have to say it back.  
   
But he totally does. Then he has to add, “I’m not saying it because your eyes get big and sad when I don’t, but because it makes me sad to see it, since I love you and that apparently comes with the territory—and is also incredibly _annoying_ , so please use it sparingly, because I’m starting to understand that whole abuse of power thing better.”  
   
Eduardo snorts, but he’s smiling, even though his face is turned to the window, Mark can tell, because his cheeks are like enormous. “I’ll try to not be sad, for you.”  
   
“I’d appreciate it.” And after a beat, “And I promise to use my moves more responsibly in the future.”  
   
Being irresistibly sexy is such a terrible burden.  
   
They share a look and Mark lowers himself gingerly onto the bed, grimacing when his ass cheeks glide against one another.  
   
Eduardo is, regrettably, observant. “You’ve really got—?”  
   
“Lube all over my ass?”  
   
Eduardo’s staring distractedly at the point between Mark’s legs when he nods.  
   
Mark nods. “Yes.”  
   
So it goes like this:  
   
Mark and Eduardo open the whiskey and start drinking. Then they get naked. Well, there’s talking and other crap in between those two points, but let’s focus on what’s important here.  
   
Sex is going to happen and stuff.  
   
Mark doesn’t even have to fret about it or prepare for it or ask nicely for it, because they’re making out and rubbing against each other and there’s this whole thing with gazes and some weird weightiness on the whole thing that sort of makes it clear what’s going down.  
   
Besides Eduardo, Mark means.  
   
“I’ve never done this,” Mark informs him, of anal sex.  
   
Eduardo’s already got two fingers in Mark’s ass, eyes bright-glassy, lips kiss-swollen-slick as they pop off his erection. “No? Well, yeah, I mean. Me either.”  
   
“Good.” Mark isn’t equipped to deal with the implications of that since he’s too busy almost-getting-laid.  
   
Being sexually active is a lot of work, okay?  
   
There is the usual sucking and fingering, only this time they stop before it gets really good, which would be a bad thing, except that Eduardo has condoms and he’s staring between Mark’s legs, which are splayed to either side of him, and Mark is still kind of humping up into nothing, so he probably looks like a total slut for it, which is basically the case.  
   
“You’re so hot like this,” Eduardo says, eyes transfixed. “You have no idea how you look right now.”  
   
Inside, Mark preens and thinks _I can be a slut for you whenever, no problem_ , but all that emerges for real is “Unghkhggk.”  
   
And also his eye might twitch.  
   
He lifts his knees for Eduardo, who puts his penis promptly where Mark’s ready for it, and it doesn’t hurt—Mark’s practically had all five of Eduardo’s fingers up there—but it is a little overwhelming, and Mark has to stop Eduardo from just sliding into home base, because he has to open his mouth and say, “Hnnggyu,” which is really mid-anal-speak for,  
“Ohmygodyouhaveapenisanditisinsidemerigh

tnow. Give me a sec.”  
   
Eduardo complies, only now it’s his eye that’s twitching and he kisses Mark and they share a laugh when he slips out, but it’s less of a ha-ha-this-is-funny laugh and more of a ha-ha-don’t-fucking-do-that-again kind of laugh.  
   
When they can, it’s deep and perfect, and in the middle of Eduardo driving into him, Mark pushes him over and reverses their positions, riding Eduardo’s dick like a seasoned pro. You know, if a seasoned pro got a foot cramp and had to pause to crack his toes, which is totally possible, even sex pros get cramps, right?  
   
There are orgasms, messy and frenzied and slippery and Eduardo says into Mark’s ear when he has his, “Yggghunng,” and Mark agrees into Eduardo’s when he has his, “Uuuhhhgggnnf.”  
   
It can’t be more than minutes later that they’re laying side-by-side, still sticky and messy-haired and loose-boned, barely having caught their breath even, that they’re passing the bottle of whiskey back and forth again because... well, why not?  
   
Mark has to wonder, “So that was what you were waiting for?” and Eduardo looks confused so Mark adds, “That was the _special_ sex?”  
   
Not that Mark didn’t enjoy it, it’s just...  
   
“I did things,” Mark says, annoyed. “I did really undignified Peter Gabriel things, Wardo. Not to even mention that I considered sprinkling rose petals in places however briefly, and—getting drunk and fucking me missionary is your version of special first-time sex?”  
   
Eduardo’s face turns guilty-red as he gulps his paused mouthful of whiskey. “I didn’t have a lot of time, and. You were. With the being wet. And all lubed up, and. Don’t look at me like that! I don’t have women’s magazines to get sex advice from.”  
   
He finishes with a bitter huff, but Eduardo does this thing with his mouth. It’s all slanty and self-effacing.  
   
Mark rolls his eyes, and if he presses himself closer to Eduardo then it is _not_ cuddling. It's just, you know, after-sex physical contact. “The sex was perfectly adequate, stop being unnecessarily disappointed with yourself.”  
   
“I could have done rose petals,” Eduardo mutters into Mark's hair.  
   
“To be fair, I probably would have laughed at you.”  
   
Eduardo demands, “I can be smooth, okay?”  
   
Mark nods earnestly, “Of course,” but vows to make Dustopher Moskohughes’s new monthly _Redbook_ subscriptions accessible to Eduardo, just in case.


End file.
